


Of Friends and Strangers

by Madlyie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4884316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madlyie/pseuds/Madlyie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac loves his friends. He really does except for when they keep him from talking to the attractive strangers on the metro. Actually, just one stranger but it’s about the principle, alright?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Friends and Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Is there mobile reception in the Paris metro? I don’t know but let's just assume there is for the sake of this story so…a cheer for artistic freedom! (If not then this is set in the future or something.) Sorry for mistakes, English isn’t my first language and now I hope you enjoy this fluffy little something. ♥

***

 

„You did what? Why would you do that?“

Courfeyrac balances the phone between his ear and shoulder, head cocked to the side, while he tries to locate his wallet somewhere in the pockets of his jacket.

“ _I don’t know! I panicked_ ,” Enjolras indigent voice sounds too loudly in his ear. Courfeyrac jerks his hand back as it touches something suspiciously furry before his fingers eventually close around the object he’s looking for.

“Before or after you kissed the guy you had a crush on for, oh I don’t know, ages?”

He flips open his wallet, pulls out his Metro pass, then slides into the queue behind a tiny woman with a handbag half her size, a punk kid with bright blue hair and a tall, very tall man with dark hair and broad shoulders.

Nice shoulders. Very nice shoulders.

“ _Before. During. After. I don’t know!”_ Enjolras grumbles like petulant child. A slightly panicked, petulant child.

Courfeyrac sighs. “Listen to me now, okay? You will get out of that freaking bathroom and tell R how you feel and then, I don’t know, have sex on the floor if you don’t make it to the bedroom for all I care.”

_“Courf!”_

“Yeah, don’t tell me you don’t want that.”

Enjolras makes some weird choking noises that Courfeyrac interprets as a reluctant but indisputable yes.

“Come on, you big dolt, R is crazy about you. Everybody with eyes can see that so get the fuck out there.”

“ _I can’t –“_

“What? Sorry…reception. I can’t hear your pathetic attempt of an excuse.”

“ _Courfeyrac, there’s full reception in –“_

“What? What did you say, I can’t hear you! Sorry, talk to you later!”

He hangs up before Enjolras is able to say anything else. He refuses to give in to the urge to hit his head against the closest wall.

 

Courfeyrac loves his friends. He really does.

Even when they’ve been dancing around each other for years and rather hide in a bathroom than get their shit together.

 

The tiny woman who has been frantically searching for her card finally makes it through the barrier, followed by the punk kid and the dark-haired man with the nice shoulders.

Nice backside in general, Courfeyrac can’t help but admit appraisingly.

He makes his way onto the train and finds a seat close to the exit. So does the man a couple of seats down and across and that’s when Courfeyrac’s breath catches in his throat.

 

Because the man is drop-dead gorgeous.

 

He’s immediately captivated by the warmth of hazel brown eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, wavy brown hair falling into an angular face, all prominent cheekbones, straight nose and dark skin. His throat goes a little bit dry at the sight of white teeth absentmindedly worrying a full bottom lip.

 

Courfeyrac almost falls off his seat when his phone rings.

 

“Hello?” he answers slightly distracted by the way the man’s white button-up clings to his chest.

_“But Courf, what if –”_

“Oh god, you moron! Get out of that goddamn bathroom!” he groans and the man looks up at Courfeyrac’s maybe too-loud-for-public-transport exclamation. One side of his mouth twitches as their eyes meet for a split second and Courfeyrac feels a blush rising in his cheeks.

Which is ridiculous because he doesn’t _blush,_ he certainly doesn’t have to suppress the urge to _squeak_ when the man’s mouth curls up into a beautiful smile even though.

He doesn’t look up again and Courfeyrac _isn’t_ staring.

Only that he totally is.

The train slows, stops – people spill in and out – speeds, slows, stops and speeds again and all the while Courfeyrac watches the young man across from him who, in addition to a really nice face, actually has a really nice everything even though nice feels like the understatement of the century.

He wears a beige cardigan with elbow patches for Christ’s sake and Courfeyrac finds it adorable. And attractive. Just… really, really attractive.

 

Courfeyrac is certainly able to appreciate a beautiful human body – not that the man seems the type to know how beautiful exactly – when he sees one but somehow he can’t simply leave it at an appraising once-over because something about the man is too inexplicably fascinating, making him helpless to do anything but watch, completely mesmerized.

 

He nearly overhears his phone ringing again.

This time he takes the time to look at the caller ID.

 

“Hey Marius.”

“ _Courf, hey,_ ” Marius’s slightly panicked voice sounds through the speaker.

“Hello young man, what’s –,” he pauses abruptly as the train comes to a stop which is obviously where the man has to get out because he stands up from his seat and Courfeyrac – yes, alright – unabashedly stares because the way he holds himself, tall and lean body, elegant and gracious without any intentionality or even awareness, makes Courfeyrac want to jump up and throw himself at the man, see what’s under all those perfectly fitting layers of clothes and bookish appearance and take him apart right then and there, right in the goddamn train for all he cares.

 

The man pauses just a moment and hazel eyes framed by dark lashes and glasses flicker to Courfeyrac before they quickly look away and a small, flustered smile, too boyish for a grown man and therefore even more charming, flies across his full lips and then the doors of the train close with a harsh, hissing finality and he is gone.

 

Courfeyrac startles as he hears Marius’s voice in his ear.

 

_“Courf? Are you... Is everything alright?”_

“Huh? What? Oh… yes, yes.” He runs a hand through his hair and feels utterly lost for a single, surreal moment. “Fine, everything’s fine. What was it you want?”

_“I think I might…be lost?”_

Courfeyrac groans. “Damnit Pontmercy! Again?!”

 

***

 

He hasn’t exactly forgotten about the man what is quite a surprise because Courfeyrac usually doesn’t memorize every aspect of the face of a stranger no matter how pretty said face is.

He still nearly gets a heart-attack when he sees the man again a week later as he enters the metro and falls down onto the free seat two left from him.

 

The man’s hair has been cut, short at the sides and left long on top what makes his cheekbones and the long expanse of his neck stand out even more.

 

Courfeyrac tries to stop himself from blushing a crimson red a la Marius when the stranger notices him and looks up and god, he’s really glad he’s sitting and not standing because he can feel his limbs getting weak at the look from warm brown eyes that look away again too quickly.

He’s very close to blurt out something unmistakable stupid and creepy just to keep those beautiful eyes from looking away.

He doesn’t, fortunately, and just keeps staring at the delightful way the man picks slightly flustered at the sleeves of his this time navy blue cardigan with long, nimble fingers that Courfeyrac could watch for hours.

Possibly.

Amongst other things involving the same fingers.

And now he’s blushing. He can feel it.

 

He tries to think of a charming, witty, totally confident approach because that is what he does but his head is positively blank.

He is just settling on a completely unimaginative and quite desperate, “Good morning” - because why not? That’s a perfectly normal way to start a conversation – when his phone rings.

 

He isn’t sure if he’s glad about it or not.

 

“Hey Bahorel.”

 _“Courf, my man, hello!”_ Bahorel’s voice booms through the speaker and Courfeyrac holds his phone a little bit further away from his ear. _“How’s everything going, good?”_

“You talked to me yesterday.”

_“Duh. I just wanted to, you know, check in now. See how you’re doing, how your day is.”_

“What do you want?”

_“Want?! Me?! Do I need a reason to ask how your day is? I’m wounded, really, I just wanted to call you mate.”_

“Get to the point, Bahorel” Courfeyrac sighs but he knows he sounds too fond. He can’t help it.

He loves his friends even when they’re cheeky buggers.

The man looks like he’s trying not to smirk and Courfeyrac knows he’s listening. It makes his heat beat just a little bit faster and he almost overhears Bahorel’s reply.

_“Do you still have that Donna and the Dynamos costume?”_

 

Well, that’s not a question he expected to hear.

 

“What the fuck do you want with my Donna and the Dynamos costume?”

A stifled laugh from the seat across makes Courfeyrac look up at the man who is now failing to keep the grin from spreading over his face. There are crinkles around his eyes and Courfeyrac is delighted. And slightly horrified.

 _“Can’t we just make this one of those Don’t Question It And I Owe You One-things?”_ Bahorel asks slightly pleading.

Courfeyrac laughs disbelievingly. “Yeah, sure we can -,” he stops as the man stands up from his seat and, with another quick glance and smile, passes Courfeyrac and gets out of the train.

“Do that,” he finishes weakly but still smiles when Bahorel honest to god whoops.

 

***

 

Courfeyrac has spent the last week practising the perfect, not-creepy approach to dazzle the handsome stranger with his sparkling wit and compelling charm, not to mention his boyishly handsome looks and irresistible smile.

The man looks up when Courfeyrac sits down one seat down and across from him and honestly, the smile that lights up _his_ face is absolutely irresistible.

In a whiff of recklessness Courfeyrac stands up again and flops down onto the seat next to the man and promptly forgets every single word he has planned out so carefully because now he’s close, very close and he can see flecks of gold in the man’s brown eyes.

“Good morning,” he says – blurts out more precisely – and no, he’s supposed to be smooth, charming, confident not tongue-tied and embarrassing, this is _horrible._ This is a nightmare.

But the other man smiles wider and Courfeyrac can swear his eyes look up and down at him for a second what doesn’t really help the situation at all.

“Good morning,” he replies slowly, calmly, just smiling and his voice, low and deep, makes Courfeyrac’s breath catch in his throat. He opens his mouth to say something, not exactly sure what, but he only gets as far as, “So I –,” when the ringing of his phone cuts him off.

 

He bites back a curse. “Sorry,” he says and picks up reluctantly.

 

“What?”

 _“Woah, I … sorry,”_ a confused Bossuet stutters and Courfeyrac immediately feels guilty. _“Did I … catch a bad moment?”_

He contemplates lying for a moment but decides against it.

“Yeah, sorry, actually you did,” he says apologetically and can’t help but laugh. If he sounds a little bit hysterically Bossuet is an angel and doesn’t mention it.

“ _I did?”_ he asks disbelievingly and Courfeyrac understands his confusion.

He loves his friends. He loves it when his friends call him.

He can’t help but laugh at the irony of the situation.

“Yes, you really did, I’m sorry.”

Bossuet laughs as well. _“Just my luck then. It’s not that important, don’t worry. I’ll call you back later then?”_

“Yes, you do that and really, I’m sorry.”

 _“Don’t be,”_ Bossuet says and then he hangs up just as the now-a-little-less stranger rises from his seat with an apologetic look on his handsome face.

Courfeyrac feels for him.

He thinks about following for a split second but that would be creepy, right? Right.

So Courfeyrac just watches him as he goes before he leans back into his seat with a heavy sigh.

 

***

 

“Hey Feuilly,” Courfeyrac answers his phone as he enters the train. It’s a warm day for spring and he feels absolutely great.

_“Morning Courf. Listen, I just wanted to say that I’ll probably be late for the meeting today because I switched shifts with one of my co-workers. Her daughter is ill. I tried to call Enjolras but he’s not picking up.”_

“No problem, he’s probably busy with his shiny new boyfriend.”

The man already sits and since there’s no other seat free Courfeyrac flops onto the one just across from him. He can’t be mad at Feuilly for calling him just now. No one can be mad at Feuilly.

No one with a human heart.

He mouths, “Good morning” and the other man nods and smiles. Courfeyrac thinks he looks more beautiful every time he sees him.

_“Did you just describe R as ‘shiny’?”_

“I see how that might not be the most considerate choice of words. What about fluffy? Fetching? Foxy?”

This time the man doesn’t hide his grin. Courfeyrac’s stomach happily somersaults.

_“I don’t know if I like the direction this is going.”_

“Aww, come on, I’m sure there are lots of people who find you foxy enough to shake it up a little.”

Feuilly huffs. _“I really start doubting your conversation skills.”_

“You mean you thoroughly enjoy them.”

“ _Don’t put words in my mouth.”_

Courfeyrac looks up, feeling slightly giddy and daring and it’s somehow so much easier to talk when he doesn’t really have to talk. He grins.

“I could put something else in your mouth.”

The man snorts and it shouldn’t be attractive but god, it really is. His eyes are sparkling with barely contained amusement and Courfeyrac feels like he’s flying.

 _“Oh my god, what is wrong with you?”_ Feuilly groans but it sounds like he’s laughing.

“No need to be embarrassed.” In a moment of boldness fuelled by the man’s smile and the whole ridiculousness of the situation Courfeyrac adds, “You should know that even though you’re attractive for a ginger, I really like my men tall, dark and handsome.”

The other man nearly chokes on his breath, Courfeyrac feels a rush of excitement and triumph even as the man looks away and bites down onto his bottom lip. It’s beautiful. Courfeyrac wants to do it for him.

“ _Yeah right, I’m hanging up now,”_ Feuilly chuckles into his ear and as soon as Courfeyrac takes the phone from his ear the other man shakes his head and starts laughing quietly, a rich, bright sound that makes Courfeyrac’s heart skip a beat or three until he can’t help but join.

The man’s stop comes too quickly, but this time when he stands up his eyes linger on Courfeyrac’s face for longer than just a second and a crooked smile lights up his whole face.

 

“See you,” he says before he leaves and Courfeyrac has never heard two words that sounded more beautiful.

 

***

 

Grantaire calls just as Courfeyrac enters the train.

_“Did you ask him?”_

“Why am I telling you guys anything?” he groans in response and automatically looks for the man in question. He finds him immediately like he it isn’t even possible to look anywhere else.

_“Because we’re your friends and you love us.”_

 

He does. He really does.

 

“I’m still going to hang up now.”

“ _We expect details! No wait, actually we don’t. I don’t want to know where –”_

 

Courfeyrac hangs up.

He sits down on the thankfully empty seat next to the man.

“Good morning,” he says smiling and gets a smile in return.

“Good morning.”

“I’m starting to sense a pattern here.”

The other man opens his mouth to say something when Courfeyrac’s phone rings.

 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then sighs. Damnit.

 

“Just a second,” he says apologetically and picks up. The other man only smirks amused.

“ _Did you ask him?”_ Joly sounds like he’s hopping up and down like a bouncing ball.

“No,” Courfeyrac answers pointedly, “I didn’t.”

_“What? Why not? Isn’t he there?_

“Yes, but-”

“ _Shit. Oh my god, he’s there, isn’t he? I am so sorry, I’ll… I’ll hang up now, okay? Okay.”_

“Okay.”

“ _Yes, right. Sorry. Get him, tiger. Bye!”_

Courfeyrac nearly chokes and stares disbelievingly at his phone, slightly horrified, then looks up into amused brown eyes.

“I hate my friends?” he tries but the other man laughs.

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I really don’t.”

They smile at each other and Courfeyrac could happily stay like this forever however sappy that may seem.

The other man says something that Courfeyrac almost doesn’t catch because he’s too busy staring into brown and golden eyes but it ends with “my stop” and that’s enough to have a hundred responses running through his head, from “I know” to “Don’t go” but he just smiles because he doesn’t know how to form words anymore so he watches the man stand up looking as if he’s about to say something too but he doesn’t.

 

The phone rings again when the doors of the train close.

 

“Hello?” Courfeyrac answers weakly.

Jehan huffs. “ _You didn’t ask, did you?”_

 

***

 

Today.

Today it’s going to work. Courfeyrac is going to jump onto that train and ask out the man he’s been ‘madly crushing on’ – Grantaire’s words not his even though he finds them really appropriate although he would never admit it – for weeks.

Or maybe ask for his name first.

 

Yes. That’s probably a good start.

 

He thought about switching off his phone but he can’t bring himself to do it.

He always has his phone on in case someone tries to reach him. He usually likes being reachable, he gets paranoid if he isn’t but for the first time he had honestly considered it.

Courfeyrac gets on the train and his eyes immediately land on the man who is sitting there, glasses perched up on his nose, blue sweater and light brown slacks and dark hair, warm hazel eyes already looking back.

He doesn’t wait, just walks over, takes a deep breath and starts talking before he even sits down.

“Alright, I can’t guarantee that my phone won’t be ringing in the very next second and I love my friends, they’re amazing, great people but they’re bloody nosy and keep me from talking to you and I really don’t like that because I want to talk to you even though I don’t even know you or you know, your name for that matter but I want to get to know you, I wanted to from the first moment I saw you because let’s be real, you’re absolutely gorgeous and I should stop talking, I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m Courfeyrac. You have really beautiful eyes.”

 

And then he does stop talking, horrified, because this isn’t how he planned this to go and god, he’s blushing.

 

The man stares at him wide-eyes and then he smiles, smiles even wider and lets out a laugh as breathless as Courfeyrac feels.

“Combeferre,” he says then, “my name’s Combeferre,” and Courfeyrac can’t help but return the smile with everything he has.

“Combeferre,” he repeats probably grinning like a madman but he doesn’t care at all, “would you like to -”

 

And then his phone rings.

 

Courfeyrac groans and really, really wants to throw that thing where the sun never shines but the man – Combeferre – just smiles and holds out his hand.

Courfeyrac stares at him, stares at his hand, shrugs and hands over the phone.

“ _Did you ask him?_ ” he hears Enjolras’s voice and oh god, why did he do that? He wants to bury his face in his hands but Combeferre just replies calmly, “No, Enjolras, he didn't but I think he’s about to.”

Courfeyrac feels his jaw dropping.

“ _Good,”_ Enjolras answers, _“If I have to hear him going on about the colour of your eyes one more time I’ll do it myself.”_

“I don’t think Grantaire would like that.”

“ _Oh, he understands my pain. Now put my best friend out of his misery already.”_

Combeferre chuckles. “Alright. See you tomorrow Enjolras.”

“ _Bye Ferre.”_

 

He hangs up.

 

“You -,” Courfeyrac starts, stops mouth hanging open, starts again, “How do you…? I mean…”

“Enjolras’s in my history class,” Combeferre interrupts him with a grin before he can make even more of an idiot of himself.

“You _knew_?” Courfeyrac asks disbelievingly and actually doesn't really know what he wants to ask with that.

“Fairly quickly,” the other man admits and smiles at him. Then he adds, “You’re blushing when you don’t know what to say. It’s adorable.”

 

And Courfeyrac is certainly blushing at that.

 

Combeferre who is still holding his phone quickly types in a number. Then he stands up as they reach his stops and hands the phone back to Courfeyrac. Their fingers brush.

“In case you want to be the one doing the calling for once,” he says.

There’s nothing bashful about his smile anymore, it’s mischievous, almost coquettish as he turns around one last time before he gets off the train.

 

Courfeyrac holds onto his phone like his life depends on it and thinks he might be a little bit in love.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> In case you want to drop by I'm also [here](http://vintage-jehan.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. ♥


End file.
